#this is so abnormal of me why can't i be normal about these old men | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yandere-wishes · 4 years

Text

MONSTERS

👹 Yandere Ryomen Sukuna x Reader

👹Summary: Monsters aren’t born they're made, but Sukuna stumbles across the rare exception...

👹Warning: dehumanization, mention of gore, blood, slight dub-con mentioned in passing, death, past trauma, and abuse

👹 Edited: By the lovely @tealyjade-libran !

👹 Wordcount: 2,480

👹Alternative Tittle : If Roxanne ( from the Police song) lived in ancient Japan.

👹First Jujutsu kaisen fic! I hope you guys like it, please let me know your thoughts! Likes and reblogs appreciated!

Monsters were made.

Slowly created as once blazing ideals, withered and died under harsh strokes of reality. Stitched together with broken promises and the ashes of rotting memories.

Monsters were made

whisked into a role they once dreaded, once feared. Beaten into the role of the villain, the reprobate, the sinner.

If anyone ever asked Sukuna when was the exact moment he turned his back on the laws of "good" and "evil", shedding his human skin to regrow a pelt of hate and destruction,

He would simply answer, "Never".

Because skin is skin no matter how much it decays. Even if the epidermis turns into a rotting orange shade, littered with eyeballs and teeth that shouldn't grow there.Even if the blood from all those he's slain has finally stained his dermis, tainting it in a permanent crimson that all the waters of Lake Biwa could never wash off. Even if his hypodermis is no longer made of fatty tissue but rather spiritual energy sucked from the atmosphere. It's still skin, the same old skin he was born with.

Sukuna had never shed his skin, he'd only perfected it, enhanced it, molded it into its perfect form, until he was no longer held back by foolish human limitations.

He'd never been "reborn" only recreated; only perfected.

Spike, talon and teeth covered arms sprouting from oozing, bleeding scars, charred over by begriming infections that burned worse than the strikes he'd endured as a child. Knuckles and bones cracking over and over and over again until they grew as solid as the rocks that were thrown at him when he was all too little to understand the malice behind the insults and threats. Breaking until they could break no more, until they'd become strong enough to split a boulder with a mere flick.

There had come a time when he'd given up licking his wounds, leaving them to be kissed by the mold-covered worms who left an urticating sensation he'd soon come to associate with victory. Rotting flesh growing covered in thick layers of black tar tattoos that hid every cut he'd endured when he'd once been too weak.

Monsters were created from quarter truths buried neck-deep in fables that snipped like red-eyed scorpions.

Until the blood dancing through their veins was as black as the void they now called home.

Sukuna knew the exact moment he realized he was a monster. The day he realized he liked the crunch of skulls beneath his feet, the pitiful spark in mortified eyes staring at the heavens for a scrap of mercy. Mangled mouths barely held together by fractured jaw bones, uttering prayers and pleas that died in the scorching air.

Sukuna knew he was an abnormality, patched together by broken heirlooms and shattered family traditions. Sitting on a throne made from skulls of those who thought they could ever kill him.

You can't kill a monster, for you can not kill that which was never born.

You can't slay something made from good intentions with malevolent methods, something so vile that it might actually be pure. At the end of the day, no monster really admits that it is a monster, a nightmare that should have never existed.

Yet...

Tattered hearts and cruel orbs are never quite enough. No monster is complete until they dive off that last edge, plummet into the sea of nothingness, and finally, finally break their souls on the spiked soil. Monsters, spirits, curses any malicious being that had been mended together like a half-done ragdoll was not complete until they truly let go. Until they erased all the former humanity that they had been born with. Until their eyes reflected nothing, no emotions, no malice, no want, no need. Just the absolute emptiness.

The void in all its glory.

that was the symbol, the true markings of a real monstrosity. The void that took over their existence, that had replaced every inch of their former self. Only then could it be said that you were above all other beings, the true perfection of this world.

There are worse things created than monsters, things that are made from nothing and everything. Things above "Yin" and "Yang". Things that have no scrap of humanity, monstrosity, or anything in them.

Things that are just empty.

So maybe -just maybe- that's why when Sukuna's rotting orange eyes landed on the epitome of emptiness, a...girl, whose face was sculpted to disreflect emotions and intents. Someone who was the void of darkness itself. The true personification of nothingness.

His heart -for the first time in countless centuries- began to throb.

a truly dead face swarmed by a sea of buzzing ants, chasing their routine happiness. Smiles of delight and carelessness carved on their aging faces with sunlight knives and the melody of golden coins. The lust for life leaking from every pore of their bodies.

With every face being a carbon copy of each other it was no wonder yours stood out.

There was a silver chain of attraction, dragging Sukuna towards the village girl. Not love, never love, the king of curses was beyond certain, that neither you nor he could feel such a honey-laced sensation. It was more like....something. Something paranormal, inexpiable. Some magnetic force outside of everything's control.

It was easy enough to explain why he liked you. Why you stood out from the other insects of this middle-of-nowhere-village.

You had dark matter for blood and dead seas for brains.

Your eyes radiated an endless abyss. Making others shy away from your lifeless gaze. Scared to look into the void in fear that it may respond.

You were a thrown away doll,

A living dead,

A dying star,

You were the daughter of the number zero,

The monster that had no maker nor mother.

Something not born nor created.

Just an entity that roamed the earth, with no desire nor hope, no wish nor dream. Not leaving, not dying, just existing in the space between today and tomorrow.

There'd been no need for pleasantries, for hiding behind ghostly tree branches and frozen windows. There'd been no need to kill or ravage for you. No competition to eliminate, because no one ever came near you. Humans don't like what they can't explain, Sukuna knew that all too well.

Sukuna watched from a close enough distance to almost touch. Lingering around like a phantom begging to be noticed. Orbs trailing over you, but never approaching. Until one day he'd just stood still. Waited for you to turn your head just a fraction to the left, just to see him in all his menacing terror. To finally notice the clawing, crawling sensation that had been creeping up your spine like a hoard of spiders.

And when your dead eyes did finally land on him. Sukuna could swear that his breath hitched in his throat for the first time in his seemingly endless life.

You weren't human. Humans didn't have hollow faces or marbles for lips.

You weren't a curse. Curses didn't lack venom dripping from their souls.

You were something better than a monster. You were the divinity of monstrosity, the void itself. Black holes for eyes, answerless paradoxes for hands, and an endless maze where your torso should have been.

Exploding suns danced around you, burning, burning, till they died out, leaving behind no trace that they once lit up the universe.

The space after the end, that's what you were.

Perfect, to Sukuna you were perfect.

You hadn't run, hadn't screamed, hadn't even bothered to talk. You didn't care about him, couldn't care about him. That's what made him want you, made his mouth salivate with the thought of your flesh between his teeth.

That night the world stood still, as Sukuna's claws penetrated your flesh like twirling needles. You were as light as a feather. You weighed nothing, were nothing. All so easy to pluck and throw about. You never made a noise when your body collided with the bamboo walls, just letting gravity and Sukuna play a twisted ball game with your lump of a body.

You hadn't protested when he violated you. As his lips bit every inch of your body raw. For some unearthly reason that even the gods couldn't understand, would never want to understand, you had found the Curse's violent actions rather...adoring. Taking every slap and slash with the earnest pride of a small child getting praised for a day of relentless chores. letting the dawn-tinted-haired monster adorn your body in blue and purple jewels. It felt right, in a pathetically, nauseating, twisted way...it just felt right.

It was disastrous, sure, but it was right. Like two universes crashing. Destroying each other with every kiss and every bruise.

But...

For the first time in your meaningless life, you had truly understood what "happiness" felt like.

For the first time in his endless life, Sukuna had truly understood what "intimacy" felt like.

///

Was it wrong to kiss you? For a fraction of a second Sukuna hesitated, blood tinged lips hovering millimeters away from your own stone-set ones. The moon's cursed rays acting like an unnoticed barrier, keeping two things out of each other's grasp. His lips curled back revealing two rows of knife-like teeth. The last resort, a final hope that you'd run away, that you'd act somewhat normal. The king of curses, the evil among men, didn't mind your lack of regularity. He didn't mind how you leaned into every bitter strike, every painful display of fading affection . He adored how you merely giggled as he slashed open your uncharged skin, creating slits for your blood to spill through, onto his waiting tongue. He admired your lifelessness, the way you radiated death.

Oh, how you filled him with a startling aftershock every time he touched you. Every time his tongue lapped at your bleeding skin he'd feel the sort of electric shocks that came after the storms had passed. Your body had no shape, it molded to his touch, turning his favorite shades of red, with just a little pressure.

But sometimes, in fleeting, endless seconds. He wished he had a name for what you two were. You weren't his per se, you could never be his. Being his would indicate that he cared about you, or heck even loved you and that could never be true. The king of curses did not love, nor care. He merely tolerated you; you fascinated him, that's all.

It had been many moons since he first found you in that no-name village. Months upon months since you'd been by his side. You'd watched as he'd destroyed cities, helped him even. Eyes never shedding a single tear. Mouth never uttering a single protest.

The two of you had become the best, the King of curses and the Queen of nothingness. With the dying speed of laboring bees, Sukuna had carved himself inside of you. Twisted emptiness into flower-covered destruction. Into molten gold lava.

Leaving you with wounds that were stuck in a cycle of healing and opening. Until they began to harden like his. Until the need for spilled blood lingered on your tongue like the burn of boiled tea. Until under your nails were coated in a decaying crust of dried blood. Sukuna hadn't turned you into a monster, he'd simply showed you the powers that came with your apathy. With a heart as torn and cold as yours, it was a shame to let it go to waste.

"You're not half bad," his tone is never approving. It's always laced with a strictness that keeps you nailed into place. His words are oxymorons sounding like praise, but once you peel back the lather layers they're just taunts in disguise.

You don't answer, words die on your tongue as quickly as they are born. Sukuna can't even remember what your voice sounds like outside of small whispers in heat filled nights.

However, to the two of you, things like that didn't matter. Your lack of being even semi-alive and Sukuna's endless abuse had become a norm for the two of you. Where else were a two-faced monster and a lifeless girl going to find love anyway?

Sukuna was all you had, all you ever had. You'd die for him, kill for him, turn into anything for him. Because he gave you life.

A purpose to life, made out of raging fires and endless screams. A life fabricated from the pain and suffering of others. That was what the king of curses had given you, all wrapped in a human skin parchment. Maybe that's why all logic withered away the first night he kissed you, maybe from the first second that you sensed his presence you had finally gained a reason to be alive.

///

Whoever said the end of the world was beautiful? Whoever said the final days would be bright and glowing and pure?

It's just a blaze of stray flames and red crystal droplets that may or may not be your blood. Funny, Sukuna had always thought that your blood would be as black as the moonless sky, not a mundane red like everyone else's. He'd expected a grander death from you. Some sort of black hole opening to swallow the world whole. Not just another corpse motionless in a pool of their own blood.

Although he's not one to talk. His own 'death' is lingering on the horizon. Sukuna's head tilts back looking for the flashing jujutsu sorcerers.

"S-sukun-a..."

He smirks, fangs sticking out at odd angles. Your voice is sweet, for the first time in forever he'd even dare say it held some semblance of emotion.

What that emotion is, he doubts he knows or even really cares. He'd long since stopped trying to identify all those "feelings" and their associated names.

His orange eyes lock with your fading orbs, one last time. No, not the last time, just the final time in this lifetime. He's sure he's going to see you again. In any other life, Sukuna knows he'll be able to recognize you despite whatever flesh suit you'd be wearing.

"Shh little one," he's halfway gone before he finishes his sentence, leaving you to relish in his memory in your final moments. "We'll see each other once more, someday in another life..."

His four eyes lock on the approaching sorcerers. He finds it humorous how desperate they look. How alive and ready they seem, such a stark contrast to your ever lifeless face and dead eyes, it repulses him.

"Or maybe in one of the circles of hell."

The flames encircling his fingers remind him of the heat your body radiated in the dead of night. The crack from bones hum as they meet his knuckles, flash memories of your days wasted together doing nothing and everything.

The two of you will meet once more, he's sure of it. After all...

Monsters never die.

How could something that was never even born in the first place, ever die?

725 notes · View notes

sorryimananti-romantic · 3 years

Text

Mist | Choi San | Chapter 2

Pairing: Choi San x OC (Seohyun)

Genre: supernatural (ghost), romance, high school

Trigger Warnings: paranormal, death mentions, violence

Words: 7.2k

Disclaimer: I do not own anything except my original character and the story. I do not own any gifs or pictures used.

Full story on Wattpad (don’t spoil here if you read there too)

chapter directory

-----------

A few paranormally uneventful days passed. Seohyun hadn't exactly opened up to the group of boys that she was now able to call friends, but she was slowly getting there. It was hard not to smile when one of them cracked a silly joke, and harder not to laugh when they had a battle of wits.

She was slowly getting used to her new school. She was past the stage of being a new kid and the students in her class had stopped giving her those looks. She was unnoticed, and she loved it.

Today, like every other morning, Seohyun got ready for school, tying her hair in a half ponytail, peeking out of the window to check if she should wear her glasses or cap today. She had to hide her eyes somehow, they always betrayed her. She didn't want anyone to think she liked to stare into the space. But then she shrugged and tossed her glasses in the bag, wearing her cap as she went to the kitchen.

Her mother was a very busy woman and she liked to spend almost all her day in her office. She was rarely home even if she had a day off anyway. So Seohyun just made herself some coffee, munching on some cookies as she waited for the coffee to become cool enough to drink.

"I still don't get why you let the housemaid go," Jiwoo popped out of nowhere and twirled around the kitchen.

"Well, I didn't entirely let her 'go'. She still comes by on the weekends, you already know that."

"But still! What's wrong with having food everyday?" Jiwoo pushed her dark red hair back as she tsk-ed at Seohyun.

"For one, I wanted to learn to cook, and the food she made was always too much for just me. I always had to throw it out or give it to someone before it went bad. Mom's never home to eat anyway."

"I actually hate your mom, no offence," Jiwoo looked at her and Seohyun shook her head, "I mean, what kind of a mother is she?"

"A woman married to her work with an abnormal child, I kind of understand why she's like this," Seohyun muttered.

"Nah, you're not abnormal. You're gifted. And you don't appreciate it enough."

"No offence, unnie, but ghosts are the company I'd rather not have," Seohyun rinsed her cup and placed it on the rack, taking her school bag and locking the door.

"What's wrong with me?" Jiwoo asked.

"You're one of the better ones, but only because you had temporary amnesia before you died and you still don't know who exactly you are and why you're a ghost!" Seohyun snorted at the weirdness of all this.

"You think I'd ever be able to recall? Or just be stuck with you forever?" Jiwoo asked.

"I'd rather you try to move around and find out who you are instead of making me look like I talk to myself."

"Ah, you pain me, child. It's all because you have new friends now and don't care about me anymore. Right, catto?"

The black cat, which Seohyun hadn't noticed earlier, meowed in response.

"And, here comes the pretty one," Jiwoo grinned and Seohyun looked in her direction to find San coming their way.

"Pretty one? Seriously?" Seohyun shook her head.

"I mean, they're all pretty, but I like this kid more-"

"Hey," San gave her a smile as he meowed to the cat, who gladly jumped in San's arm when he put them forward.

"This little-" Seohyun stopped, and San laughed. "She never comes when I ask!"

"She likes me more, it seems," San rubbed her forehead and she purred, and they walked in comfortable silence to school the rest of the way.

They almost reached the gates of the school but something Seohyun saw from the corner of her eye made her stop in her tracks.

It was a ghost, yet it was something else. It wasn't someone who had died recently for sure. The man, the ghost if you could call it that, was bitter.

"You okay?" San asked, looking in the direction Seohyun was looking in. To him, it seemed she was looking at a wall.

"Yeah, I-I'm okay. Why don't you go ahead? I'll be right back. I should take her too," Seohyun picked the cat from San's hand, "We don't want her roaming around the school and getting scared, do we now?"

San raised a suspicious brow at her, but nodded as he reluctantly went in.

The man tried approaching Seohyun first, but she motioned him to follow her and went to the backside of the school, where surely there would be very few people walking by at this time.

"State your business," Seohyun said, and the man actually looked taken aback, if his eyes could display some emotion.

Truth be told, Seohyun was always scared dealing with men ghosts and older ghosts in general. Since ghosts could touch her, they were as much of a threat to her as humans. And these old ghosts, the ones with skin that looked grey, almost as if the ghost had started decomposing too, were usually not in their right mind.

"I have waited decades to find the mediator," the man's eyes gleamed rather wickedly.

"Mediator?" Seohyun asked. A rather fancy term for someone who could see the dead. "And why did you have to wait decades?"

"Let's say the mediator supposed to sort my death out met with rather... unfortunate circumstances," the man cleared his throat but his voice was still hoarse as he said, "You have to come with me."

"Well, if you waited decades, can you wait a few more hours? I have school, and please do NOT disturb me during my class," Seohyun made sure her tone was polite as she said this, but the man grunted. Before he could try anything, she muttered an awkward bye and walked swiftly to the gates, letting the cat go. She didn't realize she'd been holding the cat for comfort.

San, who had just witnessed Seohyun talking to thin air from the other side of the road, sighed loudly as he walked slowly to the gates.

San hadn't meant to follow her, but he turned around after a few steps of walking to the building, hoping to offer to come along with her, but when he saw her stop in the middle of the road and look as if she was actually talking to someone, he paused. He knew he shouldn't, but he watched her. And he did not know what to make of it.

Was Seohyun crazy? Didn't look like it. If she was, she did a damn good job at hiding it. When San finally reached class, he saw Seohyun chatting with Jongho. Perfectly normal. Or was she?

San said nothing as he sat in his spot, but he felt her tap his shoulder. He turned around and she asked, "I thought you went to class, where were you roaming around?"

San stared at her light brown orbs, coming out of the trance when she blinked. "I just wanted to walk around a bit."

He saw her frown but then she nodded and went back to chatting with Jongho. San turned back in his seat, and throughout the classes, he kept wondering if that was the reason why she covered her face or eyes.

When school ended, Seohyun said she had to go somewhere and said bye. San made an excuse too and started to follow her. He was going to see for himself, what she was gonna do.

San knew it was impolite to do this. And he knew if she found out, she'd really be angry with him, maybe never talk to him again. This was supposed to be her secret for sure. She would probably never tell any one of them. He wasn't even sure what it was.

Seohyun led him to an abandoned warehouse, and he heard her say, "Why bring me here?"

She paused for a few second, looking around as if for help, and San ducked quickly behind the boxes before she could see her. He couldn't hear her now, but he did get bits about how it was creepy of 'him' to bring her to this place without warning her, and he didn't miss how she kept looking behind her, as if she was waiting for someone to appear or just didn't want to keep doing this.

Who was this 'him'? Her imaginary friend? A ghost? San shook his head, and got on his feet when he noticed her go inside the warehouse.

San crept up behind them, and couldn't believe what he saw.

The locked door somehow unlocked, somehow the chains fell and the door magically opened wide in front of her, without Seohyun having even moved a finger.

What was happening?

Seohyun was asked to come in the warehouse and she couldn't ignore the roaring of her gut that told her something was going to go really, really wrong. She had such a strong feeling some years ago too, and she had barely gotten away from her life then.

All her nerves screamed at her to run, anywhere, just not go in. Where was Jiwoo when she needed her? Seohyun was kind of furious how she was never there for her.

Seohyun watched the old man walk in, looking around, and before she entered, she turned her head once hoping she would see Jiwoo-

Instead, she felt her heart sink as she saw none other than San, attempting to hide as their eyes met.

"Come in now, don't keep me waiting," the man grumbled, and Seohyun shouted an okay to him before she looked at San, hoping to warn him with her eyes as she put a finger to her mouth, telling him not to make a sound and motioning him to stay where he was.

Seohyun went inside, her heart slamming against her chest. This wasn't supposed to happen. San must think she's crazy or worse. Her mind made a mental list of how many ways this could go wrong.

"I used to think mediators ran in the family. But the one who was supposed to help me, he did not have any offspring. I spent so many years in ignorance, not knowing that it was completely random. Just like god picking up a needle in the haystack."

"Cut to the chase. What do you want with me and why bring me here?"

"I have forgotten why I died. And I want to move on. But I can't because I don't remember why I am still here. Someone told me there were various other ways to move on... Let's say I had to try."

As soon as Seohyun saw the growing smirk on the man, she knew it was time to run the hell away. But several bottles came flying at her, and she barely dodged them as they crashed on the wall next to her.

"You don't have to do this! It's wrong! I help dead people move on, there must be a way other than stupid violence-"

But the man waved another hand and now the boxes came flying at her. She was grabbed by the arm and pulled against someone, and she sighed in both relief and horror as she saw it was San.

"Are you stupid! You'll get hurt!" She yelled at him. He just took her hand and ran towards the shelves, hoping to hide from whatever it was that sent flying objects in the air. He almost dragged her until he was sure he was quite away from whatever it was.

"What the hell is happening?" San asked through his teeth.

"Why did you even follow me? Are you stupid?"

"Who is it?" San's grip on her wrist tightened as his eyes searched around.

"It's a ghost, San. Do you believe me?" Seohyun asked, waiting for a snide remark.

"From what I've seen? Sure," San muttered, and Seohyun wasn't sure if he was being sarcastic.

"He's near. Let's move," Seohyun said, and this time, she grabbed San's hand as she led him through the various shelves that lined the warehouse, glad they weren't empty.

A blast shocked them, making them jump in the air as they realized the shelves were collapsing one by one.

"Shit, shit, shit!" Seohyun ran, San matching her pace and she ran her eyes around, finally finding a place to hide. It was a narrow passage between huge containers. Seohyun looked at her options. The man was blocking the entrance so now they could just hide and pray for help or... die. If that's the worst that was to come.

Seohyun dragged San with her to the narrow passage, both of them barely fitting in the small dark place. Now they were side to side but San's body was still half out, so Seohyun pulled him closer, until he was almost in front of him. Since the passage was so narrow and short, there wasn't much gap between them.

San was a bundle of nerves and all, his heart beating wildly. "What's going on-"

"Shh," Seohyun whispered, putting a hand on his mouth to shut him up, "I'll explain everything later, I promise."

San nodded, taking off her hand from his mouth but not leaving it. Seohyun was too busy concentrating on where the man was to notice it. He saw her wince, and she looked at San with apologetic eyes.

"If something happens to us, I'm sorry, San. I'll do my best to save you. The man-the ghost is after me. I don't know why," Seohyun sighed, and San squeezed her hand assuringly.

"I'm with you. Nothing will happen," he whispered, thinking he must sound stupid to say that. But it must have given her some sort of assurance. She put her head on San's chest, sighing again.

The two of them heard the sounds of things getting destroyed alright, Seohyun hearing the man as well, and Seohyun almost cried in relief as she heard Jiwoo whisper her name.

"I can teleport you, but what about him-"

"Either we both go, or we both stay," Seohyun said firmly. She wasn't going to leave him alone.

"Go where?" San asked. Seohyun told him her friend was here and she could help.

Jiwoo looked at Seohyun and a slow grin appeared on her face. "There is something I could try..."

"What?" Seohyun narrowed her eyes at Jiwoo.

"What if I teleport you, but you're still holding San? Would he come with us?"

"I don't know, unnie..." Seohyun trailed, but an idea stuck to her. "It's the same as when I have something with me right? A bag, a cap, something. But that's objects. What about actual humans?"

"Remember when we accidentally teleported our cat once? It was holding on to you and you had forgotten. What if this works?"

Seohyun bit her lip. It was worth a try. "If it doesn't work, promise me we'll come back to San right then."

"But your body can't handle too many teleportations-"

"Promise me," Seohyun insisted, and Jiwoo rolled her eyes as she nodded. "Hurry up, he's closer."

"San, listen to me carefully," Seohyun said. "You know what teleportation is, right?"

San wanted to ask her if now was really the time, but he said yes- from the movies, and she continued, "I'm gonna attempt to teleport you along with me. My friend is gonna do that. You have to trust me."

"No way," San muttered, sighing deeply.

"Yes, you were stupid and brave enough to follow me, so yes, we are teleporting. I've done it before, but I've never teleported someone... normal with me, so this might not work. So if I disappear, and you're here all alone, I promise you, San, that I'll be back within a minute, okay?"

"How am I supposed to make sense of all you're saying?" San's eyes were helpless.

"Just... trust me. I won't leave you alone. I promise. Now, I have to, er, hold you, so she can teleport us. Gotta make sure I take you with me..."

Seohyun heard Jiwoo snicker, and she passed her a death glare. San, tempted to roll his eyes, held her hands.

"I'm afraid I'll have to hold you tighter. You see, when we teleport, we tend to lose what we're not holding tightly..."

"Oh..." San left her hands, and Seohyun muttered 'here goes nothing' as she wrapped her arms around San's waist, surprised that it was so small.

"Hold me tightly, and no matter what, do not let me go, you understand?"

"Yes ma'am," San said as he bent down to place his chin on her shoulder and bring her closer. "This okay?"

"Yes," Seohyun realized she was holding her breath, so she said, "Take a deep breath, San."

San did so, and Jiwoo smirked a little, watching two scared children hug each other. She came forward, holding Seohyun only, and did her magic.

San felt his stomach twist and turn, saw a million colourful stars, almost got nauseous but his only comfort was Seohyun so he held her tighter and shut his eyes. He didn't open them again until he landed on hard ground, his back aching with the impact.

He opened his eyes and saw... nothing.

He wasn't sure if he was blind or not, but he looked down and saw Seohyun half on top of him, attempting to get up, and he realized he had his vision all right.

"Where the hell," Seohyun got up, "are we?"

"I guess your body could only attempt a half trip," Jiwoo said, and San instantly turned at the voice, making eye contact with the red haired girl.

"That's the ghost friend that teleported us?" San asked Seohyun.

"You can see her!?" Seohyun asked, and San looked at Jiwoo.

"I wasn't supposed to see her, was I?" He raised his brow, and Seohyun looked at Jiwoo.

"Hey, kid, nice to officially meet you," Jiwoo said, holding out a hand to him so he could stand up. San tried to take it, but his hand passed through Jiwoo's hand, and he gasped.

"I guess you can only see then," Seohyun bit her lip as she looked around. "Is this where ghosts come when they... move on?"

"That's where I come when I'm not on planet Earth," Jiwoo said, "It's like another plane, you could say, another dimension overlapping ours, except this one is for ghosts."

"What now? Should we try again?" Seohyun asked, coughing a bit.

"You should take a breather first. Your body can't handle it," Jiwoo nodded at her and Seohyun sat down on the ground, putting her head over her knees as she brought them closer, shivering a little. Jiwoo was right, something was happening to her. Like a cold coming to her.

"Is she okay?" San asked Jiwoo, and she shrugged. San ran his fingers through his hair as he looked around, finding no source of light that illuminated the area around them.

So Seohyun wasn't crazy. Somehow, though it made no sense, she could see ghosts, she could touch them. San looked at Jiwoo and opened his mouth to ask something, but then thought against it. Now was not the time.

"I know you have a lot of questions," Jiwoo commented, "Let's try to get out of here first before we have the talk."

"Has she... ever brought someone here?" San asked.

"This is the first time she came here too," Jiwoo said, "Usually when a ghost teleports her, it's quick and efficient. Much like you see in movies or books."

"We should get out of this place quick. I don't want him to come find us here," Seohyun said, getting up.

"Are you sure you're okay? Can you make it back?" Jiwoo asked.

"I have to," Seohyun said.

Jiwoo nodded, and Seohyun looked at San for permission. San came forward and they both held each other tight as Jiwoo attempted to teleport them again.

This time, they landed on soft grass, but the impact with which they did sent them rolling a bit. San's breath was knocked out of him and he coughed loudly, gasping for breath. As soon as he recovered, he looked for Seohyun-

Seohyun was bent rather awkwardly, and it looked like she wasn't moving. San and Jiwoo both rushed to her, straightening her body. Jiwoo checked if she was breathing.

"She is breathing. She must have collapsed from being tired, don't worry, it's happened before too," Jiwoo assured him.

San sighed, looking up at the sky, wondering what he had gotten himself into. He looked around, finding the place familiar.

"Is this... the park near our school?" San asked Jiwoo.

"Yes, I tried to teleport us as close to Seohyun's home as possible, but looks like we could only make it till here."

"What if someone had seen us appear out of thin air?"

Jiwoo laughed. "They'd probably run for their lives. You'd be aliens."

San smiled a little at that. That's exactly what he would have thought if he had seen Seohyun.

"So are you... Seohyun's friend?" San finally asked.

"You could say that. I'm older than her so she always calls me unnie, but I keep telling her to call me Jiwoo."

"Then I'll call you noona," San smiled, making Jiwoo grin.

"She helps ghosts move on. When someone dies and they have unfinished business that they just can't leave behind, they sometimes choose to become ghosts until they get done with that. Seohyun helps them do that."

"That must be hard..." San wondered if it was always as bad as this time.

"It is, but what happened today is not a common occurrence. The man she saw today, he's been dead for a good while and has forgotten his purpose here. I once heard the other ghosts talk about him too. Ghosts like that, you have to avoid them. They're bitter, and usually mean Seohyun harm."

"So now... I can see you, does that mean I'll be able to see other ghosts too?"

"You'll find out soon," Jiwoo said.

Seohyun woke up with a gasp, her eyes wide. Jiwoo helped her sit up, and Seohyun muttered 'water'. San quickly opened Seohyun's bag and fished out her bottle, which she drank hungrily from, some water spilling down her chin as well.

"Slow down, kid," Jiwoo patted her back. Seohyun emptied the whole bottle, wiping her chin, then felt something run down her nose.

"Nosebleed. Do you have tissues?" Jiwoo asked and Seohyun shrugged, looking upwards and holding her nose. Jiwoo searched through her bag but San took out a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to Seohyun.

"Does this usually happen?" San asked.

"No... it's the first time," Jiwoo admitted. Seohyun nodded too. "When we accidentally teleported the cat with her, she became dehydrated, but that was it."

Seohyun wiped her nose, looking at Jiwoo and she gave her a thumbs up.

"I shouldn't have followed you..." San shook his head, "It's because of me that-"

"You shouldn't have, but I'm kind of glad you did. Jiwoo is unreliable as a ghost friend and who knows what would have happened to me if you were not there? I could have died," Seohyun said nonchalantly.

"HEY!" Jiwoo smacked her arm but Seohyun ignored her.

"But look at you-" San was cut by Seohyun putting her hand up and saying, "I need food, and I mean NOW."

A few minutes later, they were watching Seohyun hungrily gulp down noodles and fried chicken. San had stopped eating midway just to watch her eat with a speed he hadn't ever seen before.

"Are you sure you're even chewing?" He asked, and Seohyun glared at him.

"The food is not going anywhere, Seohyun, slow down," Jiwoo laughed, "seeing you eat like this is making me wish I could eat too."

"Okay, mom," Seohyun said, finally slowing down. They ate the rest of the food silently, then Seohyun decided she'd like some coffee. They decided to walk her home as she sipped on her coffee and answered San's questions.

"Have you ever told anyone?" San asked first.

"Never. My mom only knows because she's, well, my mom and it's weird when a little kid sees stuff nobody else does."

"And what has she done about this?" San wasn't sure if he should have asked this.

Seohyun sighed, "She tried to 'help' me, but then she decided avoiding me was the best way. So now she's married to her work."

"And your dad?"

"He's never been here in the first place."

"Oh..." San faltered, but saw Seohyun shrug. "You can ask me anything, San. You deserve an explanation. Don't hesitate."

"Why can you see ghosts?"

"I don't know that either," Seohyun smiled as she looked at the sky. "Born this way?"

"Would you have ever told us?" San asked. Seohyun stopped walking at that, and faced him.

"To be honest, I've never made friends, San, because of this reason. That someone would find out. They'd never believe me, they'd think I'm crazy. So I don't know if I would have told you guys, ever," Seohyun paused, "But you found out, and you witnessed everything. What do you think?"

San scratched his neck. "I think you're right. I don't think any of us would have believed you. We'd have dismissed it as a joke. But now that I did see everything... It's different now. I hope you understand that."

"You sure you don't want to, I don't know, ever talk to me and all?"

San smiled. "You think I'd abandon my friend just like that?"

Seohyun couldn't help but stare at San, his sharp eyes that grew warmer every time he smiled, how they slightly curved.

"I want you to know that if it was anyone of us, and they had seen what I had seen, they would have never abandoned you. We don't take our friendships lightly."

"That's... good to hear," Seohyun finally smiled. "Do you think they'd believe us if we tell them?"

"They'd need some convincing, but yes, they would. Do you want to tell them?"

"Not yet," Seohyun said, "When the time is right."

San nodded, and squeezed her hand. "If you're ever in danger, you tell me, okay? If you need anyone, or anything, you tell me, got it? You don't have to face this alone anymore."

Seohyun almost cried right there, but she held it back, squeezing his hand back and nodding. They walked a few minutes until she finally reached home.

"Thank you, San. For everything." Seohyun smiled at him, and this time it was a true smile. San was actually taken aback. It felt like she had truly smiled for the first time, unfiltered.

"Anytime," San managed to say, and watched her go in. He took a deep breath, trying to shake off the image of Seohyun smiling, but found himself smiling too.

Meanwhile, Seohyun collapsed as soon as she entered, and she allowed herself to cry, both happy and sad tears, happy that someone finally understood her, and sad that it hadn't happen earlier. Jiwoo sat down with her, silently rubbing her back.

----------------

Seohyun almost slept in the next day, only woken up for school when Jiwoo threw her off the bed for 'sleeping like a sloth'. She couldn't exactly blame her. Seohyun had been so tired that after crying her heart out, she'd only had the energy to change before she collapsed on her bed and slept without moving an inch.

"My whole body hurts like I did some major workout," Seohyun mumbled as she tried running towards school, but gave up. She'd just walk.

"I don't recall you having such after effects after a teleportation," Jiwoo wondered.

"When it's just me, I'm only drained a bit. Like running. But even when I took the cat accidentally, my head hurt a lot. This time it was a whole human."

"Maybe because they aren't meant to be there," Jiwoo shrugged, meowing at the cat who appeared out of nowhere as usual. "Sometimes I think you might have transferred this teleportation thing to your cat too."

"Except 'I' can't teleport. You ghosts can," Seohyun corrected. She'd be lying if she said she hadn't tried teleporting herself home from school. How cool would that have been?

Jiwoo picked the cat and quickly passed it to Seohyun so no one would witness a flying cat. Seohyun draped her over her shoulder so Jiwoo could play with her. As they were walking, they saw San standing in a corner. He waved, then joined them.

"Hi noona," he said, and Jiwoo tried poking San but her hand went through him.

"I guess you can still only see," Jiwoo shook her head, continuing to pet the cat.

"You can touch the cat? And she sees you?" San asked, curiously watching them.

"Ever since we accidentally teleported her, I can touch her. But I'm pretty sure she could see me before too. All cats can, I think."

"Interesting..."

"Were you... waiting for us or something?" Seohyun finally asked.

"I was. I couldn't sleep last night, truth be told. I kept thinking about what happened. In fact, I'm surprised I didn't freak out..."

"I'm more surprised about that," Seohyun admitted.

"Meanwhile Seohyun here slept as soon as she reached home and I had to wake her up for school too," Jiwoo flipped her hair dramatically. Seohyun scoffed at that.

"You must be very tired... Are you okay?" San asked.

Seohyun nodded, and before she could say something they heard someone calling their names. It was Wooyoung and Yeosang. They joined them, Wooyoung putting his arm over San's shoulder as he said, "You're early today. You usually come in last minute."

"I woke up early today," San said casually, his eyes darting towards Seohyun unconsciously. Yeosang noticed that, trying to stop the smile creeping on his mouth as he looked between Seohyun and San. Seohyun gave him a warning glare, one she made sure was strong enough.

As they waited for class to start, Seohyun was resting her head on the desk. She couldn't quite believe the fact that someone now knew who she was, and was not disgusted or freaked out by her. She couldn't stop wondering what the future would be like, what if this group of boys would really get her to warm up to them, and how they would react if they found out.

San turned around in his seat, a frown growing on his face as he noticed how tired she looked. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Just very, very tired," Seohyun sighed, lifting her head.

"What if the ghost-man comes here?" San asked.

"Oh. I'd totally forgotten about him..." Seohyun bit her lip, "Well, he knows better not to make a scene in front of people, so chances are he won't."

"Chances? That ghost was dangerous!" San hissed, "What if he does come here?"

"Jiwoo must be out on watch. She'd warn me." Seohyun said, and San looked a little relieved at that. "It's not like the ghost can hurt you, so don't worry."

San rolled his eyes. "I'm worried about you, stupid."

"Oh," Seohyun paused. "You don't have to. I'll be fine."

San tsk-ed at her, turning back in his seat. Seohyun stared at the back of his head. Yunho dragged his seat towards Seohyun as he said, "You both are getting along rather well."

"Well," Seohyun slumped back in her seat, "he keeps talking."

Yunho laughed at that, "He's been thinking of names for your cat too."

"I won't approve if I don't like it. He knows that, right?"

"I'll give a good name, don't worry," San turned back in his seat, having overheard the conversation.

"I don't have much expectations from you, to be honest," Seohyun said casually, tucking her hair behind her ear, "I think Jongho there could give a much better name. He looks like he actually uses his brain."

Yunho and San looked at each other and giggled at that. Her observation was true. Jongho was infamously known as the 'only braincell' of the group. Yunho told her that, which actually made her smile.

"See? I know how to spot the smart ones."

"Who do you think is the most dumb one out of us?" San asked, attempting to make puppy eyes so she won't pick him. Seohyun looked at each one of them slowly, then said, "I haven't talked to you all much, but Wooyoung looks like he doesn't really like to use his brain."

The pair of them laughed so loud at that, catching the rest of the boys' attention as Seohyun tried to shut them up. But they were in tears, slapping their thighs as they laughed.

"Can the both of you stop? San you're second dumbest, just so you know."

That just made them laugh harder. The boys slowly came to them, muttering how they wanted to know what was 'so funny that they were howling'.

"She thinks the smartest one of us is Jongho, and the dumbest is Wooyoung," Yunho finally explained.

Wooyoung was laughing at first until he realized and yelled "HEY!" Jongho giggled, looking satisfied.

"Your brain processing is just a bit slow, that's all. No offence," Seohyun muttered.

"I mean, she's not wrong..." Hongjoong made an impressed face.

"Where do I stand?" Mingi asked, "I'm the second smartest right?"

"From below, yes," Seohyun said, making them all laugh. They all insisted that she rank them, and then they'd tell her if she was right about this.

"I don't actually think you're dumb, okay? This is just a joke, don't take it seriously-"

"I know, we all know," Wooyoung assured her, smiling warmly, "carry on."

"...Okay," Seohyun hesitated a bit then started, "Hongjoong is smartest obviously but Jongho is quite smart too? He seems more mature. Then Yeosang or Seonghwa, San somewhere in the middle depending on how awake he is, not sure about Yunho, but Mingi and Wooyoung... well they're pretty close. Because they don't like using their brains..."

"Most of it is accurate," Hongjoong agreed, "Yunho is more lucky than smart."

"Ah.. must be nice to be god's favourite," Seohyun scoffed. "But hey, I like Mingi and Wooyoung. They make you all laugh. That's more important."

Mingi and Wooyoung clapped at that, finally approving.

------------

It was finally after school, when San insisted on accompanying her to her home so she would get there 'safe', that they encountered the old ghost right outside her house.

"Get behind me" San protectively pushed Seohyun behind her.

"I appreciate the gesture, San, but this won't work. Use your brain."

"Oh... Right," San scratched his head and Jiwoo, who had also been with them the entire time, stepped forward.

"We can talk this out like civil human beings and ghosts. Then you can decide if you really want to kill Seohyun."

"NOONA!" San shouted in disbelief but she dismissed him with a wave of her hand.

"Very touching, all this, but I agree, we can have a normal conversation," the old man said.

"How long have you been a ghost exactly?"

"So long that I have forgotten my purpose, girl," the ghost snickered. "I heard from some older ghosts that killing the mediator by our own hands would make us move on."

Seohyun saw San and Jiwoo both tense. "And you thought you'd check?"

The old man nodded. "The mediator before you... Some other ghost killed him. It was some sort of revenge. He was supposed to help me."

"I could help some other way, because killing me doesn't really sound like a solution to me... Like, think about it. It doesn't make sense."

"Are you sure you aren't saying that because you don't want to die yet?" The old man smirked.

"Oh please," Seohyun faked swagger, "If I had an option, I'd kill me too." San shook his head at her.

"Very well. I'll hear you out."

Seohyun explained that she knew an old shaman who helped ghosts with no purpose to move on. It took some convincing and death threats to Seohyun, but she finally made him realize that it might be his one and only option now, and that he should just 'stop being a pain and move the hell on'.

"If it turns out to be a scam, I promise I'll come for you, whether it helps me move on or not."

"Please do," Seohyun replied nonchalantly. The ghost signaled to Jiwoo and they disappeared.

San turned to see that Seohyun was now leaning against the wall, wiping sweat from her forehead as she sighed in relief. "Nice acting."

Seohyun looked at him once before drinking from her water bottle. She had noticed the disapproval in his voice. She stared at him when she was done, and he stared back for a good few seconds before he finally sighed loudly.

"How can you be so... stupid at times like these?"

"How was that stupid? I talked to him and poured sense into him. And it worked. I don't see the problem."

"Does your life mean nothing to you?" San asked.

"San, chill, it was just acting-"

"Those ghosts can touch you!" San was louder this time, making Seohyun flinch a little, "They can hurt you like any other human, hell, they can hurt you in worse ways than that! How can you be so relaxed when gambling with your life?!"

Seohyun watched as San ran a hand through his hair frustratingly, clearly holding himself back. His whole body was tense, his jaw was set and he was not having any of it.

"Are you done?" Seohyun asked, making sure it came out soft. San shook his head.

"I've been seeing ghosts my entire life. My mom took me to all sorts of people for help. You think I don't know how dangerous it is? I learned from the worst. And I'm old enough and experienced enough to know how to handle rogue ghosts like these. Trust me on that."

"I know you are, Seohyun," San admitted, "I just hate it when you talk about your life like it means nothing. Like you'd have no problem if something happened."

"Let's just say I haven't had something I'd like to live for yet," Seohyun said.

San locked eyes with her. "I'll make it change now."

"What?"

"There's so much to life. I know you haven't had the best life, but you have people you can rely on now. And I'll make sure you'll have something to live for."

"What do you live for?" Seohyun asked, curious.

San smiled. "My parents, my grandparents, my friends. And myself."

"Doesn't it... get too much? Living for all of them... must be hard. And boring."

"What's hard and boring is when I had nothing to live for," San said, "When life became repetitive, and I didn't really love anyone, including myself. But now... I have something to look forward to. And no matter if it gets hard, I'll have people to lean on. So ask yourself this, Seohyun. Is it hard living like me or is it hard living like you?"

San knew his words had crossed her, so he locked eyes with her for a second longer before he waved and left for home, leaving Seohyun wondering if she really had wasted all her life repelling people, and if it really had been a wise decision.

prev - next

64 notes · View notes

4evamc · 5 years

Text

Misha Tweets

Transcript

Ed Levine: Welcome to Special Sauce 2.0. Serious Eats podcast about food and life. Every week on Special Sauce we begin with Ask Kenji, where Kenji Lopez-Alt, Serious Eats Chief Culinary Consultant, gives the definitive answer to the question of the week that a serious eater like you has sent us.

J. Kenji Lopez-Alt: Generally, sort of like delicate leafy herbs like cilantro, parsley, basil, they tend to not be very good in their dried counterparts. Thyme, rosemary, oregano, they actually work pretty well in their dried forms.

EL: After Ask Kenji, a conversation with our guest, today in house, Misha Collins. He is, of course, an actor best known for his role as the angel, Castiel. Did I pronounce that right?

Misha Collins: Castiel.

EL: On the CW television series Supernatural, and has now written with his wife Vicki Collins, The Adventurous Eaters Club: Mastering the Art of Family Meal Time.

EL: Now it's time to meet Misha Collins. He's, of course, an actor best known for his role as the angel, Castiel?

Misha Collins: Castiel.

EL: On the CW television series Supernatural, which has had an insane run, right? It's like 2008 to 2019.

MC: Yeah, we're in our 15th season right now.

EL: That never happens.

MC: No, it doesn't. I don't know why they kept us on the air.

EL: Collins is also the co-founder and board president of Random Acts, a nonprofit organization dedicated to funding and inspiring acts of kindness around the world. He's also a published poet. Very impressive dude.

MC: Thank you.

EL: And has now written with his wife Vicky Collins, The Adventurous Eaters Club: Mastering the Art of Family Meal Time. So welcome to Special Sauce, Misha.

MC: I'm very happy to be here.

EL: So the first question I always ask, in your case it's particularly relevant, is tell us about life at your family table growing up. Your family table was not exactly traditional.

MC: That is true. I was raised by a single mom. My parents separated when I was three years old and I visited my father on every other weekend for most of my childhood, but he wasn't really a cornerstone of my upbringing. But my mother and my brother and our dog were a very tight family unit, and we lived in Western Massachusetts primarily growing up and moved a lot. We were in a new home I would say on average once every nine months or so. I think I lived in 15 places by the time I was 15.

EL: So you were like an Army brat, only you were a different kind of brat.

MC: Right. An Army brat without the parents building up a pension plan.

EL: Right.

MC: Another thing I think that an Army brat family has is a cadre possibly, of other kids that are going through the same experience, and I was generally going to a new school every year and meeting kids that were in fairly stable childhoods and who knew one another and who were familiar with the school, so I was always approaching schools and new towns-

EL: You were the permanent new kid.

MC: Yeah, with a little bit of trepidation, and trying to figure out how I could ingratiate myself to the new communities and the new schools. My mother was very eccentric and iconoclastic. She talked about the revolution a lot. I was born in 1974, and we lived through a tumultuous political time in our country, and she didn't want to have us grow up being conventional young men, so she would do things like dress me up in pink tights and paint my nails and send me off to Cub Scouts. Which I think in 2020 might actually fly, but in a working class community in Massachusetts, when you show up at Cub Scouts in the boys' locker room with nail polish and long hair-

EL: Not so much.

MC: And pink tights, you're ostracized. So, I kind of had to find a way to blend in and disappear a little bit as a kid in new schools, and I think that it built a lot of character in a lot of ways, and made me more resilient and adaptable and independent than I otherwise would have been. But at the same time, there's a certain lack of stable foundation that was challenging.

EL: I had not the same kinds of travails in my own childhood, but you do become resilient and eminently adaptable, but it also has a cost. It exacts a cost that you can't deal with as you're going through it, but you almost have to deal with it at some point in order to really resolve some of the issues that came out of it, I assume.

MC: Yeah. I'm sure you've found the same thing, but I feel like I'm a 45-year-old man and I'm still discovering things and unpacking them and repairing them, I think. There are definitely things that you take away from a childhood like that that give you real strength.

One of the things that I love about my childhood is that I know that you don't need money to be happy and you can get by on just about nothing, and that gives you, I think, quite a bit of power going into the world because you don't feel beholden to the comforts of ... I don't feel beholden to the comforts of money. I'm okay with scarcity. At the same time, I don't know that I was really terribly good at connecting with people or making friends, and I probably still struggle with that.

EL: Yeah. So, you wrote this amazing piece in The Times, and you wrote that “times were often lean, but one luxury we always had an abundance was food, even if it came by the five finger discount. My mother taught me how to steal peaches from the Stop and Shop grocery store when I was four. We were stealing from the man. It was a justified rebellion against an unjust system.”

EL: So, whoa. Okay, those sentences made me stop in my tracks. That's pretty intense. I was actually thinking about this movie, Shoplifters. I don't if you've ever seen it.

MC: Oh yeah. Yeah.

EL: Because in there the father figure, who turns out not to be the father, teaches the kids how to steal so they can eat. And so, wow. I mean, talk about that. Talk about getting conflicting messages from your mother. It's like, whoa.

MC: It's funny, because now hearing you read that, it paints a portrait of a parent who was raising children without a moral compass, and I think that was not at all the case. This was righteous rebellion. We were stealing ... We would never have stolen from the local co-op, but this was from a corporate entity, and these corporations were out to exploit the proletariat. I actually felt the exhilaration of feeling like I was part of a rebellion at that point, and frankly indoctrinated into that at a really young age. At the age of four, I was aware that it was us against them. We were the little guys and that we had a justice on our side. At the same time, it's a complicated thing to be training a little four year old how to steal.

MC: I have a very distinct memory of the fruit island in the Stop and Shop, and me grabbing a peach. This was the first time that I remember ever shoplifting anything. I grabbed the peach and then I ducked down behind the island, and my mother said, "No, no, no, no, no. You can't do it like that. You have to take it. You have to be very calm. You have to not look around. You can't show that you're distressed at all or that you're nervous, and then you put it in your backpack." Then we would go up to the cash register and we would pay for some of the groceries, so that we were distracting them, and then scoot out the door.

EL: And you just, I assume, felt that there was nothing particularly abnormal about this because you had nothing to compare it to.

MC: Right. Yeah, this was my normal.

EL: Yeah. You weren't stealing from somebody or something that needed the money, you were stealing as part of an ethos. Right?

MC: Right.

EL: As part of like, this is the way we work the system to fight the man.

MC: Right, precisely. Yeah.

EL: You also wrote, and I'm going to quote a couple of more sentences from the piece because it was so beautiful, "My upbringing taught me you didn't need money to be happy, that you didn't have to play by the rules, that the whole world was just begging to be explored. But now by the hindsight of fatherhood and from the comfort of a therapist's couch, I see that while my childhood had been rife with adventure, it also had been lonely and frightening and wanting." So you were always reconciling those two things, weren't you?

MC: I wouldn't say I was always reconciling them, because as a child I struggled at times. I felt sad and lonely, but I didn't think that it was because of my childhood.

EL: Got it.

MC: I thought my childhood was full of adventure, and I was proud of my childhood. Up until when I was 25 I don't think I looked back on it and thought that there had been any damage done by that.

EL: Right, and that there was anything dysfunctional about it.

MC: Right. And on balance, my childhood was incredibly ... I think I had a secure attachment with my mother. My mother was there. She was loving. She never failed to convey that love to me and my brother. So she served as my anchor emotionally, and that was unfailing. But because the rest of our life was so fractured and so nomadic, she was my only anchor.

EL: Yeah, because as you said, how do you establish connections with any kids when you're moving every few months?

MC: Right, and when you're showing up at school in pink tights at a working class school you're also getting alienated by your peers, and so the other kids actually ended up being kind of frightening to me.

EL: I read your Wikipedia page, and somehow you escaped and you ended up at a prep school, Northfield Mount Hermon, and then the University of Chicago. What a narrative your life has been. How did that happen?

MC: Now that you're asking the question, I'm reflecting on it possibly for the first time. But one thing that I know happened as a result of my childhood and and partly as a result of feeling like I wasn't fitting in with other kids, is that I was a smart kid and I could win the favor of my teachers. So when I was in school, I did very well in school. It was like the thing I could throw myself into and be safe and get some accolades.

EL: Some positive feedback.

MC: And some positive reinforcement. So I did well in school, and we lived in the town of Northfield for a little while, which was where Northfield Mount Hermon is. They had a program that had been implemented from the inception of the school where local day students could get pretty much a full ride if they were in need, and we were in need, so I could go to a fancy high school for free as a day student. Then I ended up basically getting the same deal at the University of Chicago.

EL: Amazing.

MC: Yeah. At the time, I thought I was going to go into politics, so I was sort of on a very clear path. And that wanting to go into politics was also born of my childhood and of my mother talking about politics all the time, and making me and my brother very aware of the plight of people in need in our country and around the world. It felt like that was the right place for me.

EL: Yeah. Again, and this is the final sentences I'm going to read from the Times piece, because it gets us back to food. Which is, "I recently found an old journal in a box in the back of my closet, and on the page from a decade ago where I had taken inventory of the good and bad of my upbringing the word cooking is circled and underlined with urgency in the plus column, as if I was thinking that food had been the cornerstone of happiness in my youth." Elaborate on that. I mean, that's an amazing statement.

MC: I think as a nomadic family, we moved around and we brought with us what we could, and in terms of material objects, there was very little that was a through line. But we did bring with us from place to place the tradition of sitting down for family meals every night.

EL: Even if you were in a teepee or in a park.

MC: Right. Even if we were sitting on a log in the woods in the rain, we would be sitting down and eating together. There were no distractions. There was never a television on, and there was no coercion in getting to the dinner table. There was no question about it. Not because it was an edict from an authority figure, but because we all just coalesced around dinner and loved it.

EL: You needed it.

MC: Yeah.

EL: It was a permanent form of glue for the family, right?

MC: Yeah. It really was important to us. We would go spend Christmas with my mother's mother, my grandmother, and she was a cook as well, and food was a centerpiece of that family interaction. And for me now that I have kids, I notice that when I'm feeling like a guilty or absent father, the way that I most quickly show my affection and love for my kids is I just make them food. It's like the way that I know to convey to a child everything's safe, everything's okay, and I love you.

EL: Yeah. But in 21st century America, and maybe all around the world, it's hard to do that, right? There are lots of pressures that are forcing people not to eat together.

MC: Right.

EL: Both parents are working, kids are all over the place. But you obviously, I think as a result of your upbringing, it was important when you had a family and a wife that you made that same time for dinner.

MC: Yeah. It feels very important to me. I think sometimes I'm actually kind of maybe forcing my agenda of cooking on my kids. Like, "Come on guys, let's make something in the kitchen." A lot of times they want to go outside and I want to work in the kitchen, and I have to check myself and say, "Okay, we'll go play a little bit of soccer first before we get to canning the pears."

EL: Right. Because the act of eating a meal and preparing it is imbued with so much more meaning for you than it is for them.

MC: Yeah, I think that's true. Yeah.

EL: So you end up being an actor, and I'm just assuming that like all actors, you struggled for many years before you found yourself on the set of Supernatural. So, tell us in a few sentences the arc of your acting career.

MC: Well as I mentioned earlier, my intention after college was to go into politics. I interned at the White House and I got a job at NPR in Washington, DC, and I was really disappointed with what I saw at the White House, and I thought, "Oh God, I have to come up with a whole new plan here." I thought it was going to be the best and the brightest minds under one roof. This was the Clinton administration. And instead what I found was the halls were filled with people who were sycophants, whose parents had donated money to the campaign. They were all yaysayers. There was no real discourse about political ideas, which of course is actually what you need in an administration. You need people who are going to be in lock step and are going to support your decisions, but I was too young and naive to know that.

So when I saw it, I thought, "This is not for me." I thought, "I will try to find another way that I can have an impact." I think there's a lot of hubris in this, but I thought, "I know what I'll do. I'll become an actor. I'll get famous and then I'll parlay my celebrity into some sort of political influence."

EL: Oh, because that happens all the time.

MC: Right. I mean really, really completely naive, and totally full of myself. Then I moved to LA and I thought it was going to take a couple of years to attain a certain level-

EL: To become rich and famous.

MC: To be rich and famous. And it took a long time to become-

EL: It took a decade, probably.

MC: To become moderately comfortable and a C-list celebrity. But somewhere along the line I stopped thinking about that end goal of I'm on this path so that I can have influence, blah blah blah, and I just started becoming an actor, and I was just acting for the sake of acting and not for this aspirational, high-minded goal.

Then a couple of years ago we got a new president, and that lit a fire under me. It was actually during the campaign when I started to think, "Oh, Trump might get elected. Oh, this is serious," and then my C-list celebrity started to come into play and I thought, "All right, well I can use the platform that I have."

EL: By the way, I think it's at least B-minus, okay?

MC: Well you, as everyone knows, grade on a curve, so thank you for your charity. In a strange way it feels to me a little bit like it's come full circle, and now that the show's ending and after 15 seasons I'm asking the question, "Okay, how can I be of use in the world?" I don't know what's next for me. I don't know if I spend a lot of time on television sets after this or not. I'm trying to do some soul searching and figure out what I really want to be when I grow up. But that's, in a nutshell, my path.

EL: It's an amazing path, and you accomplished much more as an actor than almost any actor I know. To be a working actor and to have made some money doing it is actually an incredible accomplishment, and maybe it's to the resilience you discovered you had in your childhood.

MC: Yeah, I think possibly. I think obviously there's a lot of dumb luck that comes into play. It's not my fault that the show that I'm on has been on for 15 seasons or has the devoted fan base that it has.

EL: There are conventions for Supernatural. I notice this-

MC: We have conventions. There are tattoos with face on them. I mean, it's hard not to be full of yourself in this context. But yeah, we have a really, really devoted fan base, and it's quite remarkable to be a part of.

What was it? I think it was Freakonomics at one point. Maybe it was in the book Freakonomics, but they said that pursuing a career in acting is like pursuing a career as a drug dealer. It's very, very difficult to be one of the kingpins, to be successful in the field.

EL: Right.

MC: The odds are so bad that it takes a certain personality that's defective that wants to even pursue that in the first place, because 99 out of 100 people are going to fail at that and then you're just going to be a low level street corner drug dealer, or barely getting food on your table as a background actor.

EL: Yeah. Well Misha, we have to leave it right here for this episode of Special Sauce, but you're going to stick around and tell us all about your two terrific kids, West and Maison.

MC: We just say Mason.

EL: West and Mason.

MC: Yes, we anglicize the French spelling.

EL: And your wife Vicki, and your family collaboration on The Adventurous Eaters Club. Thank you for spending so much time with us on Special Sauce.

MC: Thank you so much for having me, and I can't wait to talk about the book.

Listen to the podcast here

#misha collins #vicki collins #the adventurous eaters club #misha talks #chef!misha #misha tweets #seriouseats #podcast

678 notes · View notes

stabbedinthenameofscience · 3 years

Text

Tom Hiddleston's lanky nature, long legs, long fingers, are some of the physical features that have drawn me.

Some stories to bring about why:

A moment in time- Albion, MI, where I lived before here. I'm tutoring in a GED program. One of the other tutors notices my hands. I have long fingers. The joints are a little angular, thanks to the hypermobility and the arthritis that has already started to damage them (I am in my early 20s at this time). He tells me he's never seen hands like mine. Fingers like mine. Lanky. I've never thought of them as pretty, though at one time I considered they might be elegant. I could do pretty things with rings, especially in tiers, some floating above my second knuckles.

But this person...he tells me of this syndrome he's read about, how these hands are irregular, different, something that's a sign of a hidden something worse. Something I should (or shouldn't look up). And it did two things. 1) It sent me down a reading rabbit hole that scared me for a while, before I realized this was an unrealistic fear. 2) It made me incredibly self-conscious about my hands and planted that seed of self-doubt that I no longer saw them as something neutral, or simply hands, but something odd, awkward, abnormal. That lasted for years. I've gotten more neutral about them over the years, especially as I start wondering when their function is just going to impede the things I love to do, including writing. They aren't just hands. They are a part of me this degenerative disorder may some day claim and that scares the living fuck out of me. They are something I need to use as much as I can now, strengthen, and enjoy what they can do for me, what I can do with them, regardless of how they look. I can take pride in the strength of these hands (when I have it), with the fact they can type, on a good day, upwards of 70 words in a minute (often with surprising accuracy). I can take pride in their aptitude with tools, with the way my long fingers can reach things others can't, or I can steady them to the point where, when they don't shake, can paint a beautiful line, courtesy of my training in scene painting. They can make, and they can make beautiful things. I'm making my own wedding dress, which, while not traditional by any stretch, is something that is still a feat I can take incredible pride in.

These hands have held children, built a life, and repaired things I've been told were irreparable or only worth the rubbish bin.

And yet, thanks to one person's fascination with them so many years ago (going on twelve at this point), the damage was done and I still look at them in some moments of self-doubt and insecurity and think they're ugly, they're "old person hands" (I turn 37 this year and aging so early is another insecurity of mine), they're spider-like, they're too "thin" (in that my tendons and veins are clearly visible under the skin's surface on the back of my hands) and my knuckles are a little too imperfect, made all the more visible by how slender they are. And that they swell in the humidity, that the arthritis makes me unable to some days wear my engagement ring and the little copper key ring that both are dear to me...these things make me resent them at times. There's something "wrong" with them (which I know is utter bullshit- they're just hands, they are a part of my body, and they will serve me well until they won't).

I've also dealt with a life-long insecurity about my long legs. Dancer legs (14 years of ballet, many of tumbing, many of tap, and a few of jazz). Legs with strength and grace, but also lanky legs. I'm all leg. Legs that won't quit. Unwanted attention from a cluster of frat boys while I was walking in a short dress with my mother on the campus of Michigan State University and was still in high school. I stopped wearing shorts. I stopped wearing skirts above my knees. Because my knees are too angular (like the rest of me), knobby, and damaged thanks to scars from a surgery in the attempt to save the right one from the arthritis that started with it and has crept into other areas of my body. Again, attention in a moment I definitely didn't want it cracked and broke the self-esteem that has, for some reason, always been fragile. For years, I've been sensitive about my legs, initially because of the scars, small and faded as they are. But the trauma that one knee left me with, that my arthritis continually brings back, continually reminds me exists, gifted me with deep insecurities about my knees, compounded with the dipshit comments of adult men to a teenage child.

I've never seen these things as valuable. At their best, they are body-neutral. At their lowest, they are things that bring shame, doubt, embarrassment, unwanted attention and gaping.

And so, when I am a young adult a decade ago, just turning 27, pregnant with my first child, my body a mess from the pregnancy (from swelling, the awfulness of weight gain is to arthritic knees, the looseness of my hips that shift in ways I know aren't normal, the intense lower back pain, and the nausea that never abates), I see Thor. And there on screen is a young man only a few years older than myself with lanky legs and long, elegant fingers. In that moment, I'm drawn to how theses features don't put me off in the way they do in myself. I seem something of a commonality with this rising star in a movie that is essentially space Shakespeare that stars one of my favourite heavyweight actors (Sir Anthony Hopkins) and is directed by an artist I have admired for years at that point. The entire movie stands out to me and thrills me, calling to me as theatre on the silver screen, the Shakespearean and classical acting evident and threaded throughout the entire thing.

And it is beautiful to me.

And so is this man with features I'd rejected in myself, one a decade (my legs) and one only for a few years (my hands).

It probably seems odd that this moment was a branching point in the way I've handled these insecurities, but it was. I still won't wear skirts that show my legs. I still refuse to wear shorts. But these things also come from the habit of not shaving my legs, not generally because I resent they are long and lanky, just like the rest of me. Every movie I've seen with Tom Hiddleston when I feel myself smile at this lovely human (physically) who also has a public persona that is witty and soft-spoken, a nerd about theatre, who likes to explain acting process, who digs into literature with excitement...there's a moment of realization that I'm finding someone on my "tea list" (I'm mostly asexual- it's not a snog/shag list, it's a "take tea with and fall into the joy of conversation" list) that has a body with a few features like mine. And while I'm primarily smiling because seeing those performances brings me deep happiness, there's a corner of my mind that is reminded I am OK as I am, I need to just accept this is the body I have, and I can embrace it as what it is and let it do for me what I need it to, taking pride in the capabilities I have in these moments and reminding myself I am always running from time in a countdown before this auto-immune disorder steals these things from me.

So...strangely enough, Tom Hiddleston is attractive to me because his existence as he is reminds me that my physical being is alright.

There is a part of me that would really like him to know this. I don't know why. But I think it would be nice for him to know that his existence on this planet hasn't just made people happy because of his skills, but that it has reassured one person that their body can be fine, maybe even beautiful or elegant (in time), just because he is.

#tom hiddleston #self awareness #body neutrality #trauma #self consciousness #self image #body negativity #self acceptance #careless words from people who had no business saying them

7 notes · View notes

lucky4in · 4 years

Text

Chasing the Enemy

Prompts from Piccadilly's book #1

Words used: ☆demon ☆bystander ☆escaped ☆parakeet ☆destiny ☆hammer ☆singing ☆ash ☆cathedral ☆heels

I want to thank my friend Kaila for helping me with this story

During my time as an ExorcistMajor apprentice, I learned that a demon can figuratively and literally be anything. Whether it be a dog in the park or a simple bystander.

They can also be objects as well whether they want to be or if they are trapped. However, said objects have to signify something. They usually occur in paintings or a direct portral, like a doll.

For as long as humanity has been around, demons have always roamed the earth. Feasting on people's souls. Since then, we have systems in place to capture and destroy as many as we can.

The demons have also evolved with us. As you may expect, demons are usually blood thirsty, ravenous savages with black eyes and sharp teeth who have an endless hunger. They attack anything that has a heartbeat and are usually easy to spot and kill, as they have usually no control over themselves. Even as human camouflage, they can't seem to keep it together and eventually break.

Even so, we try to keep the ones that do talk alive. They are much trickier and they are generally the ones you know to be cunning and deceiving. Making deals with the mortals inevitably taking their souls. We keep them to help us find portals to shut and their eyes are used in weapons to find other demons.

Just as there are demons in the world, there are also angels. Before humans developed the means and departments to get rid of these beasts, Angel's have been doing the dirty work in advance before humans decided to help.

Academies are set in place for young people who want to become Exorcist in the future. We're known as exorcist apprentices and above us are ExorcistMajors. We are each assigned one. Them, including teachers, will most likely be Angel's.

The schools are very prestigious. You'd have to study your ass off in order to step foot through those doors and not many people are ever qualified. It's also very strict, too much trouble could give you hours of chores which gets in the way of class (which you'd also have to make up yourself) or even being expelled. Which annoys me. What do we need a curfew for? We can't go out and have fun once in a while?

Another rule they press us almost every single day, is if we ever come across a demon outside of school then we must contact out ExorcistMajor. But when I saw one about to possess a random stranger (who didn't seem to notice, fucking idiot) I couldn't just let them. They won't get to me in time and the guy would've already been a goner.

I managed to get the guy away, but the demon escaped when I was right on its wrinkly heels and dissapeared into a suburban neighborhood. Fuck.

My ExorcistMajor was obviously angry about it. His shouting bounced off the walls of the cathedral, I thought we were having an earth quake. "You're a smart kid, despit you're lack of brain cells" he sighs, messaging his temples "if the demon is in the neighborhood you described and you find it, I'll convince the higher ups not to expel you."

"Me?!" I shout.

"You lost it, you find it! If you weren't such an idiot neither of us would be here right now!"

"Who're you calling a-" he interrupts me with a wack to the back of my head on his way out the door. I rub it muttering a "stupid Omael".

Through our quest through the neighborhood I described, I use my demon eyed staff, offered by the school, and hold it insolently out in front of me. The eyes scan the houses we walk past in burning silence. Not in the night crawlers made a sound. My staff begins to tremble violently. I look around until my eyes caught a small yellow house. Flowers painting the brushes and porch.

This was going to be difficult and my suspicions were correct when we knocked and a petite old lady with ash colored hair answers the door. She greets us kindly though shocked to see 2 uniformed men at the door. We explain the situation and she invites us inside. My self awareness kicked in as of training while Omael was pulled into small talk with the old lady. Everything seemed normal.

She soon introduces us to her Parakeet, Kash, digging his claws into the couch. Fluffed up and all. He immediately told us that he was going to eat our souls. We are taken aback and snap our gazes towards the old lady who's smile never wavered. She excused it as "too many horror movies."

She offers us drinks and we except. Once she leaves, my ExorcistMajor says the demon is here and its energy is radiating through out the house. We search individually. I automatically turn my staff towards the parakeet and the demon eye didn't react.

Kash squawks "Demon! Demon!" As he takes off towards his cage near the book shelf. The news blares throughout the living room as I continue to shove my staff in every direction. I look like an idiot. I sigh annoyed. Annoyed at Omael. Annoyed at the staff who isn't reacting at all. Annoyed at this stupid parakeet squawking every 5 minutes. And annoyed at this ladies tacky furniture.

I put my staff away and stomp into the kitchen. The old lady was looking towards her wall shacking her hips and humming. Why would she be acting so calm when a demon is in her house. She picks up a hammer and starts hammering a cheap, store bought, paper talisman into the wall.

The kettle starts to scream and the old lady continues to hammer. God, is she deaf? I take the kettle off and the humming is now clear in my ears. I recognize the tune and turn to the lady flabbergasted. "Shattered destiny" Is a song the demons sang during one of our wars. They sang it is they brutally killed and ate the innocent.

"Hey, Hey!" I stop her. She stops and looks over her shoulder at me. "Why... why are you singing that song? You know that song belongs to the demons, right"

She stares blankly at me and then her gaze falls to the floor and she seems to be thinking. "Hm, I don't quite know" she says "i know how controversial it is, but I must admit its quite catchy." She chuckles.

I nod hesitantly and she attaches another talisman to the wall. What the hell is wrong with this woman? I slowly pull out my staff and the eye looks her over. Nothing? Are you kidding me?

Omael finds nothing and tells the lady we were going to have members watch her house to see if anything happens. If she sees anything suspicious that we may have over looked she can call us. Great. Nothing. I got another ear full back at the academy and have a week of chores ahead of me.

Omael wakes me early in the morning the next day, but it's not for chores, it's for the old lady. She called and my ExorcistMajor wanted me to answer. She was weeping and bawling about her missing parakeet...

Really?

I sit up in bed and ask her, in a groggy voice, the questions per protocol. When did he go missing? Is your house suddenly cold? Is it abnormally dark? Lastly, I asked her to observe as much as you can and see what's out of place.

She points out that her bloody bird cage, where Kash dissapeared, seemed much larger than it was yesterday. And pointy.

~~~~~~~~~

I'd like to thank my friend for helping me with this prompt. And if you like to write or be creative, perhaps you need inspiration, go check out this book it's the best.

#writers #writing #original post #angle #piccadillyinc #demon #writethestory #friend #fantasy #exorcist au

1 note · View note